


Programming Language

by chinchillasinunison



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artificial Intelligence, Killing Game Executions (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Mild Gore, Sad Owada Mondo, Self-Hatred, Short One Shot, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinchillasinunison/pseuds/chinchillasinunison
Summary: In which Mondo and Kiyotaka are still bros (and maybe a little bit more), but everything else is a little... off, and the boys cope with their respective losses in very different ways.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Programming Language

**Author's Note:**

> I saw an ask on an imagines blog about a talent swap au where it's swapped between the person who stand across from in the class trial, and I saw Ultimate Writing Prodigy Mondo and Ultimate Programmer Kiyotaka on the list and I got really inspired.

_Mondo Owada caused the death of his older brother, Daiya, then defied his final wish._

The words were seared deep in his brain, even if he only saw them for a few seconds before he ripped up the paper they were printed on, from the envelopes Monokuma sent out to each student. He sat in the closet of the computer lab, where all the miscellaneous extra techno crap went, waiting for something in the main lab to break. It was a fitting place for him, truly. The Ultimate Writing Prodigy might have even called it thematically appropriate, if not for the fact that this stuff could at least be useful someday, unlike him. See, this was why he stuck to poetry…

There was a wrapping at the door.

"Mondo, are you in there?"

He lifted his head from its place within the crevice between his knees. Through the long permed caramel strands that always hung in his face he saw a small silhouette in the frosted window with short, spiky hair.

"Come on, bro, you know we're the only ones who hang out down here! There's no use trying to hide!"

There he was, with all that doggedness he couldn't help but adore. Mondo sprawled his legs out and wiped away his tears on his robe sleeve ( _What a waste,_ he thought, _at least if I kept it in I could vent through my work..._ ) before Kiyotaka opened the door.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Are you okay?"

"Bro, when in this entire fucking killing game have I ever been okay?"

"You make a fair point." Taka sat down next to him. "But you blew up at Chihiro pretty bad. And all she was suggesting was to share our secrets so they wouldn't be a motive. And, frankly, I agreed with her."

Mondo scoffed. "Maybe that's easy for you to say. You nerds probably don't have ones that really matter in the grand scheme."

"It's a bit hypocritical for you to call me a nerd, Mr. Ultimate Writing Prodigy," he lightly mocked.

"Yeah, yeah…"

Very few people had the privilege to tease Mondo, but Taka was different. The boys had been close ever since this twisted school year began. Their talents were deeply compatible, both inherently isolating yet the work they produced brimming with their respective fiery passion. One took the form of stanzas and the other lines of 1s and 0s.

"You know, I was a bit scared back there. I thought maybe--"

"I wouldn't hit a girl. Not even a girl who's a narc." He couldn't even believe he had to clarify that.

"I know that," he insisted. A nagging part of Mondo sneered, _No he doesn't. He doesn't know you at all. Why else would he hang out with a shit stain like you?_

Taka silently gathered his laptop from the main lab. God, he really looked like the stereotypical poindexter, didn't he? White shirt, yellow plaid bowtie, red suspenders… he was lucky he didn't act archetypal or else Mondo would have kicked his ass into next Tuesday. Though, all things considered, he really wasn't in a position to judge other people's fashion. God knows how long he's been wearing that same purple bathrobe, tank top, tiger print boxers and nothing else. Or the last time he washed them.

Jesus Christ. Daiya would fucking spit on him if he ever saw what he became.

He was so damn weak. Weak, weak, weak. He couldn't even finish what _his brother_ started, that was how weak he was.

That weakness wasn't mental alone, but it manifested physically as well. In fact, that was the first sign of his downward spiral. After Daiya's death, no matter how much he pushed himself, he couldn't stop the dizziness, the heart palpitations, the bile stewing inside him and slithering out of his throat everytime he started his chopper.

He broke after one too many times. It was an understandable reaction when something one once loved was twisted by the mind in such a vile manner. He didn't even tell the Crazy Diamonds he was retiring, he just shut himself inside one day and didn't come back out for them. He couldn't speak to them, or even look them in the eyes. All he'd see and hear was Daiya, disappointed. Filled with hatred.

_It should have been you, ya know._

His isolation fed his unstable emotions, and they in turn contributed to his isolation. It was self-inflicted torture, the same feelings swirling around in his brain day after day. He wanted nothing more in the world than to crack his skull open like an egg and dump it all out.

That was why he turned to something a delinquent like him never thought he would do in a million years: writing. He wrote them down, all his feelings and every picture that flashed into his mind. It was the only way he could get them out of him, because he couldn't _talk_ about it, because that was _weak_ and weak, promise-breaking scum like him shouldn't waste other people's time. And that writing was pretty shitty at first, he wouldn't lie. But as the beast stalked the confines of its cage for months on end, its claws dug grooves in the floor too deep to ignore.

Suddenly, he had _something_. A sloppy something, no doubt, but it was something. And he took that something somewhere, and someone else saw it too. And then, a bunch of someones, a whole world of someones, saw it, and loved it for all its rawness of emotion and punchy profane verse.

One might think that the Ultimate Writing Prodigy would have a better description of his rise to prominence, but it all went by so quickly, he could barely process any of it. All at once, he had an agent and a publisher and several poetry collections under his belt. And a part of him almost wanted to feel proud, but then another part would remind him of the sacred vow between brothers he desecrated to get there and that glimmer of confidence would sink into the inky depths again.

"Bro?"

Taka's hand squeezed his calf, bringing him back to reality. The programming prodigy sat beside him, laptop in his lap, red eyes burning with worry.

"Hm?" Mondo replied. He realized his fists were clenched tight, nails stabbing into the heel of his palm, and he promptly relaxed them.

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

Those ruby eyes wandered upwards. "Like… what do you want to do when we escape?"

He placed his hands behind his head and popped his spine. "Honestly… I don't know. Maybe I'll try to write a novel. Somethin' more… constructed than my usual stuff. Somethin' with an actual point, that'll inspire people and junk and make the world just a tiny bit better."

He smiled and turned back to his code. "That's a very noble aspiration."

"What about you, bro?"

Taka was quiet for a while, gathering his thoughts.

"This world is cruel to the average person. The systems of government are stacked against them. And do you know why? Because it's controlled by geniuses. People who never work a day in their lives-- volatile people who explode under the slightest strain. It's rotten from the inside out, because it's dependent on the whims of adult children! But in my world, things would be different! Everything would be fair and just: the laws, the courts, everything! Because my world would be run by a vast artificial intelligence, unbiased and without human error! I will create a true cyberocracy!"

By the end of his passionate speech, he was on his feet, standing tall and pointing declaratively in the air. Mondo had to look up at him, literally and metaphorically. Despite how completely crazy an idea that was, his ambition was something to admire and strive towards. That didn't mean he couldn't be critical, however.

"Bro… isn't that where a bunch of sci-fi dystopias start?"

"...Huh?" He genuinely looked like he had no idea what he was talking about.

_Right. He doesn't read or watch a lot of stuff outside of programming crap._

"Like… people let the robots take over to decide stuff logically and maintain peace, and they decide with that logic to kill all the people because they can't be peaceful because of human nature or some shit?"

"Oh… my. Well, that's... certainly something to consider…"

"Yeah, you're on to something, really it's something, but don't forget morals in all that technobabble. When all that hard work is done and you built yourself that AI, you oughta make it just a bit human, too."

"That… that makes sense. I'll consider that moving forward. Thank you, bro."

"No prob, Bob."

"...Mondo, my name is Kiyotaka."

"I... know that. It's-- nevermind." He didn't want to start any tangents. All he wanted was to enjoy their time together before he started that scheduled training session with Chihiro. So, the duo sat in silence, Taka clacking away at his keyboard while Mondo rested his head against the shorter boy's shoulder, watching the lines of nonsense characters stretch across the window, his face bathed in green.

* * *

Mondo leaned forward on the railing of his class trial podium, his head hung low, his face completely hidden by the coily mess of hair. He'd made his peace with what he did and that he, above all of them, deserved punishment. Not just for Chihiro's death, for Daiya's too, and the bonds and trust he broke in his life. Honestly, it was a long time coming.

Yet, even after his confession, Kiyotaka defended him. It made him sick.

"Please!" Taka begged Monokuma, "Take me instead!"

Mondo's arm shot out and gripped Taka's sleeve. "Bro, no. I am not letting you throw away your goddamn life for a son of a bitch like me!"

"But-- I know you! I know you're a poet with a gentle soul deep down! You deserve a second chance!"

"I already got my second chance, and look what I fucking did with it!" He bellowed, gesturing to his slovenly appearance. "I wasted every fucking moment wallowing in self-pity! I didn't deserve it then and I don't deserve it now!"

Mondo felt a tear run down his cheek.

_Fuck, fuck no… I can't cry here, in front of everyone…_

"Aw, look, _there's_ the sensitive poet!" Monokuma mocked, "It's soooo sad! Really, what a sad sack. Don't get me wrong, I'm eating up all this despair, but yours is quick and easy, like junk food. It goes right through me."

He couldn't believe he was hearing shit jokes right before his death sentence, but this was the world he lived in now, he supposed. Well, he wouldn't be living there for long.

Monokuma tallied the votes, and he was found to be The Blackened by the majority… excluding Taka, who voted for himself out of protest. Stubborn as a fucking mule as always.

The bear slammed his gavel down on the button, and with that, Mondo was dragged away to his punishment: **Meet the Deadline!**

He was thrown into a pit with a worn metal floor. Looking up beyond the smooth concrete walls surrounding him were wire fences, much like those that separated his fellow students from Kyoko's execution. On one of the sides stood all his living classmates. The other three sides housed dozens of Monokuma copies, all sitting at their own individual little desks with their individual little typewriters, with little windows cut in the fence for each spot. The true Monokuma sat at a desk much taller than the others and wore a green eyeshade, and his typewriter was fed by a roll of paper rather than individual sheets.

The boss Monokuma whistled, and the teddy bears all simultaneously pounded away at their keyboards, the copies spitting out hundreds of papers a second that rained down into the pit below. Such speed these papers had as they flew that their edges were equal in lethality to razor blades. In a matter of seconds Mondo was covered in blood from thousands of deep paper cuts-- such a minor injury, but compounded to such a degree that it became torture. But this wasn't all. There was also the true Monokuma's long, continuous sheet that flowed in along with these. As the sheets battered the ribbon of paper, it twisted over itself and coiled this way and that around the pit. Once it reached him, it was twisted into a thick rope, looping around his neck with such force he wouldn't be surprised if two Monokumas up there were manipulating the ends of it. As he choked, he clawed at the paper rope, and he was winning, tiny wads of paper building up under fingernails, but something made him freeze.

Within the flurry of paper before him, a flickering figure walked towards him. Outlined in black characters was a teen in all white: white coat, white pants, white shoes. The hair was in a pompadour shape and a jumble of inky letters smeared together.

Daiya.

It was an illusion, obviously. An animation created by the hundreds of papers falling second by second in just the right way. But that didn't matter one bit. Mondo wanted to scream so badly that he was sorry that foam fell from his mouth and he was blue in the face. He sputtered the last of both his breath and his words as the pulpy phantom drew closer. It blinked at the sorry sight of him, one of its pupils a C and the other a D.

As all this occurred, unnoticed by Mondo was the floor clanking open. Right behind him now was another pit, the mouth of an industrial paper shredder, munching already at the excess paper and still very hungry.

Then, in his oxygen-deprived state, Mondo would swear the delusion of Daiya pushed him into the shredder, though in reality the tatters of his robe got caught in the machine and it sucked him in.

With a grand spray of hot pink blood and the sickening noise of grinding bone against steel, Mondo Owada was no more. The copy Monokumas vanished, and the real McCoy wiped his brow of sweat, as if he just finished a hard day's work.

* * *

The first thing he saw in the world was Kiyotaka. Kiyotaka's pretty red eyes, cherishing him. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Well... maybe he would tweak it a bit. In his ideal, Taka wouldn't be crying, his face wouldn't be so ashen or his cheeks sunken like that.

"Bro… you're back…" His voice crackled. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in years.

"Yeah, I… I guess I am."

He died, didn't he? He knew he did, but trying to remember the details first-hand, _visually_ … he was coming up empty. The ending of his life was a mere bullet point, like a blurb on an infographic. In fact… digging through his memory now, it _all_ felt like that. It was as if every moment of his life had been a dream up until this point.

"You have… no idea… how many days I spent…" He hiccupped and held his forehead. It was as if he was laughing and sobbing at the same time.

"Hey, hey, don't cry. Ya gotta stay strong."

"I'm cr-crying b-because I'm happy, bro! I worked so hard! I didn't eat, I didn't sleep! And now it's finally paid off!"

"Whoa, dude, what?! You didn't eat or sleep?! No wonder ya look like shoot!" He paused. "Wait, shoot? What the fudge, why can't I say shoot?!" Another pause. "...Fudge?!"

He sniffled away the last of his teariness. "Ah, I see the swear filter is working."

"Taka, what the heck is going on?!" He demanded.

"Well," he croaked before clearing his throat, "I figured with all the transcripts I fed you of our talks together and all the poems, you'd learn to curse just as much. And though I'm thrilled you're so authentic, I never really liked the habit, if I were to be honest. It makes you look bad. So I settled for a script to replace them with harmless words when they crop up."

"...Bro, what are you talking about?"

He raised one of those big eyebrows of his. "Hm? Don't you already know?"

"Know what?"

"What you are, bro."

"I'm… Mondo Owada..."

"And?"

The rest of the statement flooded out of him, as if it was destined to be spoken regardless of whether the thought formulated in his mind, "...and I'm an artificial intelligence created by Kiyotaka Ishimaru. My primary directive is to assist Class 78 in escaping Hope's Peak Academy, and my secondary directive is to provide companionship for them."

A long pause.

"WHAT THE GOSH DANG FUDGE?! TAKA, DID YOU PUT MY BRAIN INTO A FUDGING ROBOT?!"

"No, I rebuilt you from the ground up! You're a ghost in a machine! That laptop we found in the library, to be precise!"

"I'm… in your laptop..."

Come to think of it, he didn't really have the sensation of having a body or the ability to move, and the hair that normally swamped his vision was nowhere in sight. That would make sense if he was just looking through a webcam.

"So... I'm not the real Mondo. I'm a program you made, with his personality..."

Taka gave him a soft little smile. "I wouldn't say you aren't real, just constructed from different parts and reverse engineered."

Well, it explained why his memory was so bare bones in places. Taka could only know so much about Mondo from the short time the two spent together.

"This is so fudging crazy. Crazy and impressive as heck. How the heck did ya scrape all this together?" He didn't think he was ever going to get used to the censorship, "heck" sounded so weird in his voice.

"I've been working on the AI system itself for years, I already told you that. These past few days have been me fine-tuning the aspects of your personality. I wouldn't stop until you were perfect."

Perfect? He'd hardly describe himself as-- wait, did Taka put the self-hatred in there too? It didn't seem as strong, honestly it was more self-doubt now, but… damn, that's thorough…

"You were really determined to bring me back, huh?"

"Of course I was. You're my bro."

Taka leaned over and embraced the laptop screen. Mondo wasn't sure how he should feel about this. He was happy Taka was happy, but this didn't seem like a good coping mechanism for grief. But, then again, he probably wasn't the best person to consult on something like that. Or the best program, either, he corrected himself.

"I-- I didn't want to live without you. After-- that-- l wouldn't do anything. Physically, I couldn't. I was catatonic. Sayaka left me here in an attempt to snap me out of it. And everything in here, all the memories we shared, it brought me back to life! I resolved to stop at nothing until I did the same for you!"

Okay, it was really sweet. Insane, but sweet. Like some Orpheus and Eurydice type of shit, but less literal. How could he not be touched by the dedication?

Taka settled back down into his seat.

"So… what do you plan on doing now?"

"Oh, I'm probably going to pass out any second now. I've been running on fumes for days straight, and now that you're finally operational… I think I can… rest my eyes for a minute. If you don't mind."

"Not a bit. I'll watch over you so ya don't get murdered. Just promise me when ya wake up that you'll sneak something from the kitchen, ya hear? I don't want ya starving on my account."

Kiyotaka rested his arms on the desk and lowered his head on top of them. "Mm-hm…"

He watched as his eyes fluttered shut.

"G'night, bro," said Mondo softly.

"Goodnight…" Taka mumbled.

Holy shit, did he wish he was a person right now. He wanted to kiss him on his stupid, overworking head. Maybe go get him a granola bar and a bottle of water or something. But no, he was stuck here, bathing his reposed face in green. Eventually, the screen faded to black as the computer and Mondo entered sleep mode, awaiting a simple touch to bring him back to life again.


End file.
